Child of the Streets
by Shelby
Summary: RENTfic. Collins discovers a little boy which he takes in as a companion. (I think Collins would make the most adorable father, don't you?)
1. Findings

Child of the Streets  
  
Author's Note: I was noted that a bit of Angel's life story was cliche. So, I revised it. No, I will not revise the stealing-of-the-roll thing. I am a hard-core Les Miserables fan, and stealing any sort of baked good is sacred.   
  
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There hadn't been a colder November since the year of 1997, the year of Angel's death. Like that freezing month, snow flurried to the ground in sheets of colorless flakes, and the wind whipped around Collins' body like a knife. Slowly shaking his head, Tom made his way to his flat, walking against the bitter blows delivered by the fast-moving air. He couldn't wait to get inside where it was at least semi-warm and make himself a cup of hot cocoa. Just the thought of a cheerful, crackling fire made him smile as his trek uphill from the Life Cafe continued.   
  
The consistant beat of a local street drummer hummed in his ear. The small grin on his face lifted even further as his own mind matched the beat. Bum ba dum da-da bum~bum. In his mind's eye he could see Angel's slim hands patting against the plastic pickle tub. The same plastic pickle tub that now sat by Collins' bed, as if waiting for use. No matter how often Tom cleaned it, the makeshift drum still possessed a slightly lonely air about it.   
  
He must've let his thoughts wander, for the next thing he knew he had ran headlong into a small child who was racing in the other direction.   
  
"Oof!"   
  
The youth crashed to the floor, and struggled to regain his wits. Collins extended a hand to help, but became distracted by the sound of an angry voice yelling from the direction which the boy had come.   
  
"You come back here with that roll you little rascal!"   
  
A stout, red-faced man huffed and puffed as he ran over to the two. Collins, instantly taking in both the sourdough roll clamped in the boy's hands and the disgruntled words of the shopowner, stepped in between the two good-naturedly.   
  
"Is there a problem?"  
"Hell yeah! That little thief took a roll from my shop! You with him?"  
"I, um, well, yes. I am. I had no idea he had taken anything, I'm really sorry. You understand, I'm sure." Collins smiled, and took the roll from the grubby hands of the newcomer, handing it to a skeptical shopkeeper.   
"Well...okay. But if I catch him stealing anything else, I'm taking it to the police."  
"Alright then."  
  
The man turned, and walked back to wherever he had come from. Collins knelt down, and met eye level with the child.   
  
"Well? What have you to say for yourself?"  
"You didn't have to do that."  
"Sure I did. He looked mad enough to flog you or something." Collins laughed, and extended a friendly hand. "The name's Collins. Tom Collins. And what's you're name little guy?"  
"I'm not little!" The youth puffed out his chest, straightening his shoulders proudly. "I'm a whole six and a half years old. And my names Angel."  
"...Angel?"  
  
Collins took Angel's hand and shook it, studying the boy's features. He had a slightly caramel complexion, and expressive amber eyes. Dark hair fell over his forehead untidily, reaching just below the ears in length. If he hadn't known better, Tom would have sworn it to be a younger version of his own Angel.   
  
But Angel was dead, gone, and wasn't going to return. Thinking that this child could even remotely resemble him would only cause pain.   
  
Still...  
  
"Well? Didja get it? I'm not little!" A lightly lisped voice broke Collins' reverie, and the ex-teacher replied with a laugh.   
"Okay, okay, you're not little."  
"See?"  
"I see. So, what were you doing stealing that roll? Why didn't you just scamper on home to get food?"  
  
At the mention of the word "home," Angel's face darkened slightly, and he averted his gaze to somewhere beyond Collins' questioning gaze.   
  
"I don't have a home."  
"Really?"  
"Yep," The youth kicked a stray stone, staring at the grass. "Grammy took care a' me for a while, but then she got real sick. So then, a big man with a tie took me to a little office, and I had to sit in a big chair that squeaked for a real long time. Finally, after about a milllion years he came back out and told me I was gonna live with these other people that I didn't know, but I didn't like them." The small head lifted slightly, revealing a pursed mouth. "They was mean."  
"So you ran away?"  
"Nope! The big man said I was s'posed to stay with them, and I did. But then one day they went to, um..." Angel stopped, and thought for a moment. "Oh yeah! The groc'ry store, and I waited a real long time, but-" He shrugged. "So I left to go find them, and...well..." "You got lost?"  
"Yeah."  
"Oh."  
"Yeah oh. I've been lost for...eh....this many years!" Angel thrust four fingers into Collins' face.   
"Four years?"  
"Yeah! I've been counting! I can count, you know."  
  
Collins chuckled slightly. The child was only six, he believed him there, so if couldn't have been more than a couple of months that he had been lost. Nonetheless...Angel continued.  
  
"And I was really cold, and just wan'ed to going into the shop for a minute because it looked so warm and toasty in there. Then I sawed the roll, and I realized I was really hungry, but I didn't have any money. So, I took it, and was runnin' from the baker when you came and gave it back to him. Now, I don't have anything eat."  
"Why don't you hike on back to my house with me, and I'll get you something to eat?"  
  
Collins wasn't quite sure whether it was the right thing to do. On one hand, the kid was young and cold and hungry. On the other, Tom didn't know what the kid was capable of doing. He could steal. Then again, there wasn't much to steal at the flat.  
  
And somehow, Collins knew that his Angel wouldn't have hesitated taking the boy home with him. The ex-teacher could just see his beloved, crooning and fawning over how "darling" the kid was.   
  
"Okay, I s'pose...if, it's not too much trouble." Angel peered shyly at Collins from under a mane of dark hair that flopped over his eyes. The word "ragamuffin" came to mind to describe the child.   
"Not any trouble at all."  
  
Collins took Angel's small, slightly grubby hand and held it in his own, guiding him up until they reached his flat. Opening a wooden door, a warm feeling of welcome washed over Angel. Tom let him sit on the couch as he put water on to boil for cocoa and started a fire, placing a plate full of crackers in Angel's lap, which began to be devoured greedily.   
  
"I'm sorry I don't have anything really great to give you," Collins said, back turned towards Angel as he fought with the matches for a few moments. "I haven't gone grocery shopping in a while. I'll have to do that soon."   
  
Silence.   
  
"Angel?"  
  
Silence.   
  
"Kiddo?" Collins turned around, the fire blazing behind him, and an equally warm smile crept over his face. There, on the couch, lay Angel. A dark head lay rested on the arm, an empty plate scattered with crumbs lie on his lap.   
  
The boy was fast asleep.   
  
With a sigh, Collins picked up the plate and set it on the coffee table, before unfolding the afghan from over the back of the couch and laying it onto Angel with almost a fatherly sort of gentleness. Unintentionally, one dark hand descended to brush back a lock of brown hair from the forehead, and the corners of Collins' mouth turned up vaguely in a small smile.   
  
"He didn't even bother to stay awake for the cocoa."   



	2. Late Night Musings

Child of the Streets: Part 2  
  
Late-night Musings  
  
Author's Note: Yes I'm putting another part to this up! I just can't resist digging farther into the hole I've started....Oh yes, and thank you for the reviews of the un-revised edition of the first chapter, I think I fixed the cliche. If not, I give up. ^_-!  
  
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'It's late. Go to sleep,' Collins' inner phonation chided incessantly. It bore a striking resemblance to the gentle voice of Angel. Then again, almost everything reminded Tom of his deceased lover-an inner voice was no exception.   
  
Collins rolled over onto his side, and tried to find another comfortable position. No matter how hard he tried, however, he couldn't get back to sleep. Mind whirring, he finally gave up with a sigh, and turned his reading lamp on. The dim light cascaded down onto a well-loved picture of Angel-taken on the Valentine's day a few years ago. Reaching out, Collins took it in his hands and softly stroked the photograph's cheek.   
  
"Well?" He mumbled, "what do you think? I know, I know, it's late and I should be sleeping instead of talking to you. But it's just-this kid looks so much like you it's frightening. Of course, his hair's a bit messier than yours, and is quite a bit longer-I'm sure you get the picture though."  
  
Silence.  
  
"I'm still trying to decide whether I should turn him in to the lost children office, or keep him myself. If I gave him to them, he'd probably get stuck with another awful foster family. But-could I take care of a little kid? I'm not too good at sticking around one place for any amount of time, I'm a Bohemian! How's a Bohemian supposed to raise a little child? I'd probably end up killing it or something."  
  
Collins could hear in the back of his mind the sound of Angel laughing. A small smile was coaxed onto his face.   
  
"Then again...Angel is a cute little thing, and it would be nice not having to live here alone. But what if-"  
  
Collins could just imagine what Angel would be saying now, sitting on the bed, leg's crossed, filing his nails dutifully.   
  
"What if what? The kid's sweet, and you seem to like him. What, with all your big talk about defying authority and anarchy you don't think you'd make a good father?" The image that talked in Collins' mind smiled, and kissed his cheek. "I think you'd make a great father."  
"I know you would. You always talked about wanting to adopt. I feel bad now I never granted that wish."  
"Why? Because I died? Collins, you can't let that little thing get in the way of you doing things that you want. Sitting and moping never did anyone any good. Be satisfied that Angel's come along, and presume it was fate."  
"Fate...but I'm not responsible enough to raise him!"  
"Listen to you! From what I've heard, you practically babysat Mark and Roger after they had both had their losses of love. And you did one hell of a job taking care of me when I was sick." Collins could just imagine the feel of Angel's fingers brushing his hand. "Just give yourself a chance."  
  
The shade disappeared-and Collins was alone with his thoughts once again. With a sigh, Tom fell back to the pillow.   
  
"Maybe I'll keep him around then...but only for a little while."  
  
  



	3. Angel

Angel  
  
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"What the-"  
  
Collins blinked sleepily, and lifted his head from the pillow slightly. A flash of lightening illuminated his room, and revealed a small form curled up against the wall on the other side of his bed. A tiny head lifted, and Collins groaned with both exaspiration and drowsiness.   
  
"C-C-Collins?"  
"What are you doin' in here?"  
"I got scared of the light flashes and big booms."  
  
/The kid lived on the streets for the past few months! How could he get scared of a thunderstorm?/ Collins thought to himself, but nonetheless scootched over.   
  
"It's just lightening and thunder."  
"It's still scary...can I sleep with you?"  
  
Collins opened his mouth to say no, but another boom rampaged overhead, and Angel whimpered, amber eyes watering. The convincing arguement was set on the table.   
  
"Oh-alright. But just for a little while."  
"Thank you." Angel sniffled, and snuggled up next to Collins.   
  
Tom pulled back up the covers and stared at his visitor a moment. He couldn't get back to sleep-it was close to sunrise anyway, so he contented himself with watching his younger companion drowse. Absent-mindedly, his fingers brushed some stray bangs from Angel's forehead, tucking them behind a small ear. However certain he had been of wide-awakedness, Collins soon drifted off to the lulling sound of rain beating against his windows.   
  
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"Who are they?"  
"Huh?"  
  
Angel had crawled over Collins' stomach, and was now looking through an assortment of pictures. Collins looked up to see the youth stretched horizontally over his chest, holding up a picture of Mark and Roger.   
  
"That's Mark and Roger-what are you doing going through my stuff?"  
"You was still sleepin'!" Angel giggled, and thrust another photo into Collins' face. "Who is they?"  
"Roger and Mimi."  
"Mi~mi! Me~me?"  
"Mimi. Now get off!"  
  
Angel slid back to the bed, little hands grasping the collection of frames and pictures.   
  
"Mark, and...and..."  
"Maureen."  
"Maureen! My foster mummy's name was Maureen..."  
"Oh...I see."  
"So do I!" Angel pointed to his eyes, and looked at another picture of Maureen and Joanne kissing. "Why are they tasting each other?"  
"They're kissing. Gimme those!"  
  
Collins grabbed the pictures before Angel could get to the painful ones-the pictures that were responsible for his thrusting them all in the drawer. Unfortunately, Angel still held some-most of which were ones that Collins wasn't too keen on looking at.   
  
"It's you!" Angel yelped happily, "and a lady! She's pretty! Who'sat?"  
  
Collins looked halfheartedly at the picture. It was his Angel licking stray ice cream off of Tom's cheek. (He had never exactly found out how it had gotten there in the first place...) He remembered that day clearly-it had been when the entire group had traveled the distance to the park in order to have a picnic.   
  
"That's...Angel."  
"She's licking your cheek!" Angel giggled. "My name's Angel too!"  
"So it is..."  
"Can I meet her?"   
"No."  
"Why not?"  
"Because she's not here now."  
  
Angel suddenly became very quiet. Finally, he whispered, "That's what they told me about my gramma."  
  
Collins looked at the picture he held in his hand, then back at Angel. The youth set down the stack of photos he had been grasping, and put them in Tom's lap. They were both silent for a moment.   
  
It was Angel who broke the silence with a timid voice. "I don't think I wanna look at pictures anymore...my tummy hurts."  
'Mine too.' Collins thought, but didn't say it out loud. Instead, he slid the pictures back into the drawer and sighed. "Maybe we should scrounge up some breakfast, huh kiddo?"  
"Okay!"  
  
That had done it. Instantly, Angel popped up and scampered to the kitchen. "Last one there's a smelly old dustball."  
Collins laughed, and trotted up after him. Silently, he thanked God for inspiring him to wear his warmer gray sweatpants to bed that night-it was freezing in his little flat. With one last glance backwards at Angel's framed picture on his bedstand, he left the room.   
  
The well-loved photo of Angel Dumott Schunard smiled after them. 


End file.
